


The 'Right' Time

by Fiendfyre



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Getting Together, Gift Giving, M/M, More Fluff, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:41:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2838305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiendfyre/pseuds/Fiendfyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint was going to make sure this Christmas is the best Christmas ever. He's got a plan that has many steps, including getting married and adopting four dogs (not necessarily in that order) but the first step is Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The 'Right' Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [orderlychaos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/gifts).



> Chaos just submitted her PhD Thesis last week so I wrote her some ridiculous Christmas Fluff. Congratulations Dr. Chaos! I didn't have time to get this beta read, so sorry if there are any major mistakes. I hope everyone has a lovely holiday period and a happy new year.

When Clint Barton had lived with the Circus he had learned a lot about people, there is no one better to teach you about people than con-artists and liars, and almost all of the lessons he learned were useful in his time as a mercenary. There were some, however, that he probably should have ignored. Lady Esmerelda, the circus’ psychic, had been the nicest person in the circus and she had ended up teaching Clint everything he knew about the good in people while the others were busy making sure he knew exactly how bad humans could be. Unfortunately for Clint, Lady E was a hopeless romantic. So while Clint was taught to believe that every human had the potential to be evil, he was also taught that love was the best thing in the world. This had been somewhat confusing for adolescent Clint and had created a very strange worldview. Clint never trusted strangers, barely trusted everyone else but when someone managed to earn his trust he was fiercely loyal. Late nights in Lady E’s trailor, listening to her weave tales of love and friendships and happy endings, were some of Clint’s fondest memories.

He’d never had much luck with romantic relationships, and after he left the circus (or they left him, he’d never been totally sure which way around it was) he had rebelled against everything they’d taught him. He didn’t want to be a poor con-artist carney forever and he resented Lady E for leaving without saying goodbye so he ignored all the advice the circus people ever gave him, including hers. That was how he ended up half dead in a cell somewhere in Turkey after trusting the wrong person one too many times and making some pretty poor life choices. He wasn’t a stupid guy, but in ignoring Lady E’s advice he failed to think with his big brain, which had resulted in him hanging from his wrists in an abandoned warehouse a worrying number of times (once was a unfortunate, twice is a coincidence but three times, well three times is a pattern). At the time Clint could remember thinking woozily note to self: remember lady E’s advice. Her advice had consisted of several simple rules.

  1. _Never get involved with someone who is taken_

  2. _Listen to the person you’re interested in, learn what they are like before you pursue them_

  3. _Once you do decide to pursue them take it slow. Be romantic and considerate and most importantly wait for the right time to make a move._




He always remembered the rules in Lady E’s smoke husky voice, and thinking about them made him feel like he was back in her trailer sewing costumes and inhaling pungent incense. So after his fourth time in a warehouse due to poor romantic/sexual life choices he decided to follow Lady E’s advice. Somehow following that advice landed him a place in SHIELD and gave him superiors he trusted and cared about, and even friends. He thought about getting involved with Natasha, after Budapest, but once he’d gone through step two he realized that they were better suited as friends. They very rarely worked together, she was more of a spy than he was and she usually worked best alone. He was shuffled around the strike teams, butting heads with every single one of his handlers until there was no one left.

Eventually he was assigned to the then newly promoted Agent Coulson. Fury had promised Clint when he had recruited him that Clint would always get a say in who commanded him, and would always be allowed to say no. When he first met Coulson he almost said no then and there. Unlike his other handlers Coulson let Clint pick their initial meeting place and calmly accepted a run down cafe that was definitely violating more than one health code. Something about the way he held himself put Clint at ease, but his smile and perfect professionalism made Clint oddly anxious. He was about to call Fury and say no when Coulson asked Clint if he was comfortable working with him. He asked, and none of the others had bothered to do so. That was enough for Clint to put his phone back in his pocket and accept Coulson as his new handler.

There were missions where Clint wondered if he made the right choice, when they were surrounded by armed cartels or bleeding in the jungle without comms, but they always got out. Coulson had, more than once, risked his life and his career to rescue Clint and his team from danger, and Clint had certainly returned the favour. They settled into a strange kind of camaraderie that felt different than Clint’s relationship with his Strike team. Clint was there for Coulson when his long-term girlfriend broke up with him, when his cat (spawn of the devil that she was) got hit by a car (the evil thing survived, obviously, as lucifer had more plans for her) and when ops went terribly wrong. Coulson returned that consideration when Clint’s brother returned and fucked things up, and when he was too injured to be alone. Clint earned real smiles and facts about Coulson’s life and interests and Coulson earned Clint’s trust and everything that came with it. Their comfortable friendship was easy and natural and it felt just as natural for Clint’s feelings to evolve into something non-platonic. Clint never tried to deny his feelings, as they developed, but he did acknowledge that they were inconvienient. He’d already crossed off two of Lady E’s rules so he knew all he had to do was wait for the right time to move his relationship with Coulson from friendship to something romantic. He made the decision to wait for the right time in the fall of 2004, while on a rooftop in Prague waiting for someone to die.

It was the winter of 2014, and that right time had never come up. He was sick and tired of waiting for the ‘right time’ to make a move on the man he’d been in love with for 10 years. Obviously he hadn’t found a time that ‘felt right’ and it was entirely likely that he would have to wait another 10 years for an opportunity to fall into his lap. He’d never been one to follow rules, but he did remember what had happened when he’d ignored them altogether. He decided it was time he manufactured a situation where everything would be perfect and it would be the right time so he could finally ask Coulson out. Clint recognised (as did all his friends) that he was sort of pathetic, but he was determined to do this right. It was too important, Coulson was too important. They both deserved something magical. Unfortunately for Phil, Clint was not very good at the whole romance thing (see exhibit A: hanging from his wrists in an abandoned warehouse numbers 1-4). So Clint did what any smart human with an internet connection would do. He googled it. He tried _what do you buy the person you’re in love with but haven’t told for christmas so he will fall in love with you_

but the first option was a webpage called _loving_ _someone who doesn’t love you back_ so he very quickly decided he needed a simpler search for his own self-esteem.

_What do you buy your boyfriend for Christmas_

 

****  
  


Clint had no idea there were so many options for holiday gift-giving/wooing. There are thousands of options for romantic gift-giving in the holiday season and Clint was paralysed by the choices. He was also more than a little offended. Almost every option played on the stupid stereotypes of machismo and the kind of aggressive masculinity that both Clint and Coulson thought was counterproductive and potentially dangerous. While Clint would have felt a little better picking things off a list because it would be less personal, he wanted it to be personal. He wanted the gifts to be important, or thoughtful or symbolic or all three. Because they weren’t just christmas presents, they were going to be wooing presents (“Yes, Tasha. Wooing. It’s the most correct word, I don’t care if it’s a little old fashioned”). And as google had failed him he did the next best thing. He asked his friends for help.

First he went to Natasha, but she spent a good minute laughing in his face so he figured he should come back to her later.

May was somehow even less helpful. He asked, politely and respectfully what he should get Coulson for christmas and she had turned in her office chair and glared at him until he awkwardly looked away and backed out of the room with his hands in the air. She did send him an email later, so he gathered that she felt uncomfortable having personal conversations at work. Which was, considering her past, fair enough. Although her email did have the subject line of You’re Pathetic and the email itself just said

I’m not going to do your job for you. It’s really not that hard. You could buy him a purple dinosaur christmas sweater and he’d like it. Just think of something that means something.

“Just think of something that means something? What the hell does that mean?” Clint groaned, cryptic shit like that was how he managed to wait 10 years to do anything in the first place. “Everything means something! That’s the worst advice ever.”

“What do you need advice for?” Coulson asked. Clint jumped comically and turned his chair, he attempted to look innocent but he was fairly certain Coulson would know something was up.

They had been friends and colleagues for long enough, and Coulson had seen him lie for missions too many times for Clint to feel comfortable lying on the spot. So Clint did the smart thing and told half of the truth.

“Christmas stuff,” he shrugged, “I haven’t spent a Christmas in America for years, I always get sent out on missions at the last minute because I don’t request leave. I’m not so good at the ‘holiday cheer’ crap and this is the first year where I’ll be exchanging gifts in person. I feel like the gifts should be special, somehow.”

“You’ve always given wonderful gifts, Clint.”

“I got you a pair of slippers for your birthday, Coulson. I’m terrible at gift giving.”

“No you’re not. I love those slippers and it was thoughtful. You listened to me complain about the lack of under floor heating in my apartment for months and bought me something I needed but wouldn’t have bothered to buy for myself. It was thoughtful and useful and not at all a bad present.”

“It was April,” Clint said flatly, “I bet you didn’t use them until october.”

Phil smiled, “I travel a lot, I’ve used them more often than you might think.”

“But I didn’t think about it! You complained so I bought them for you, almost zero thought went into it.”

“I doesn’t matter, you listened to me, and that means it was a great present. Just listen to the people you’re buying for, and buy what you think they will want or need. It’s worked for you before, why change it?”

It was true that Clint listened to Phil and part of that was him following Lady E’s second rule of love but most of it was because he enjoyed listening to Phil. It didn’t really matter what was being said either. He had listened to Coulson whine about his cold apartment for months and never once tuned it out, he listened to Phil’s lectures on recycling and smoking and politics and enjoyed it. If listening was what got him noticed by Phil, then he would have to listen pretty closely this Christmas/Holiday season.

He had 25 days until Christmas. There was no way he was failing this mission. He was going to buy the best wooing presents ever and create the ‘right’ moment himself. He was going to ask Phil out on a wonderful, well planned, and brilliantly executed date and they were going to date and fall completely in love and get married and adopt 4 dogs (because Clint didn’t trust himself with children and dogs were always going to forgive you for your mistakes. Clint was perfectly ready to exploit that loyalty if it got him fluffy cuddles and enthusiastic hellos). He had a plan.

**Week 1: 1st-7th December**

Coulson was captured on his way home from work. He killed three men with the pen they had foolishly let him keep. This didn’t require any listening from Clint, but he figured actions spoke louder than words and spent 6 hours researching weaponized pens. In the end he had to have one made specially so it would fit all the requirements. One end housed a good quality ball-point pen with a shorter than average ink part. Once the casing was twisted off, like a normal pen would require to refill or replace the ink, a slim folded multi-tool would be accessed. The tip of the cap could be removed to reveal a short, sharp blade similar to a stanley knife in case there isn’t time for the casing to be removed. It was all made of material that would have no problem getting through metal detectors and customs. Clint was remarkably proud of the gift, and obsessing over that helped keep his mind off Coulson’s minor injuries. The man who made it, one of his less criminal past associates, gave him a significant discount but it still ended up costing almost two weeks worth of pay.

**Week 2: 8th-14th December**

Clint was sent to Bosnia on a mission. He spent several hours freezing his extremities off on a roof. It was less than ideal, but he was wearing thermals and Coulson’s voice was in his ear. It was oddly warming, to hear Coulson’s steady voice over the howling wind. He refused to feel embarrassed for thinking that.

“It’s cold here, too,” Coulson said softly, “the heating here is worse than at my apartment.”

“You should have brought your slippers, Coulson,” he replied, smiling fondly.

Coulson laughed, he sounded surprised and a little embarrassed but Clint wasn’t sure why. “Oh, I did. My feet are the only things that are warm right now.”

Clint laughed. “Put a jacket on, Coulson, and stop whining,” he said, even though he’d rather listen to Coulson complain more. “I’m the one freezing my balls off on an exposed roof in the middle of a snowstorm.”

“HQ says it’s safe up there,” Coulson said, sounding worried, “but you can move if you don’t feel safe. Aren’t the thermals working? Do you need an evac?”

“No, it’s fine! I’m okay here, not much longer now. I’m just complaining for the sake of it, if there was something seriously wrong you’d know about it.”

“If you’re sure…” Coulson trailed off.

Clint listened to the wind for a few minutes before he got sick of it.

“This weather reminds me of this one shitty winter in the circus. Lady E gave me a blanket that smelled strongly of incense and shitty carnival popcorn. We bought these bargain bin apples, they had literally fallen off a truck, and we made hot cider. We didn’t have any sugar or fancy spices, but Lady E had a bit of cinnamon. She sometimes used it to make the tea she served more mystical or something, it got her good tips for some reason. The cider was cloudy and kind of looked like dirt water but it was amazing. I haven’t had it since, I don’t know where I could buy it.”

“My mother used to make sour cherry pie for christmas. She got the recipe from Martha Stewart and didn’t hide that it wasn’t some secret family recipe when people asked her, but I never tried to make it. I don’t actually like baking, but I love eating baked goods. I haven’t had a homemade pie since she died.”

Clint knew that Phil’s mother had died when he was eighteen. Thirty-five years was a long time to go without homemade pie.

When Clint got off the rooftop, out of the poorly heated safe house and back into his own apartment he wrote.

_Christmas Day Meal_

  * _Main???_

  * _Entree:???_

  * _Dessert: Sour Cherry Pie_




The only problem with Clint’s new, brilliant Christmas Dinner Wooing Plan was the fact that he hadn’t actually asked Phil to come for Christmas dinner. Christmas was very rapidly approaching, and Clint couldn’t decide whether it’s looming spectre was a source of anxiety/potential doom or one of excitement.

**Week 3: 15th-21st December**

“Do you have any plans for Christmas dinner?” Clint asked as he leaned against Coulson’s office door-jamb and attempted to look casual and not-at-all-suspicious.

Phil smiled sadly and shook his head. “Not this year. My sister is spending most of the holiday break in Florida with her in-laws,” he mock shuddered, “so it’s just me this year. What about you?”

“I haven’t got anything planned,” Clint lied, “but I thought maybe you might like to come over for dinner, or lunch, or both? I’ve never really had a proper christmas celebration but I am lead to believe it involves a crap-load of food and some kind of sporting event. We can skip the sport, if you’d prefer. I’m kind of partial to christmas themed movies.”

Phil’s smile was, in Clint’s opinion, more radiant than usual. “That sounds fantastic, Clint. Honestly it sounds better than our family christmas dinners. Great Uncle Peter is only capable of passive aggressive comments and backhanded compliments and for some reason the green bean casserole is always cold and we have it for both Thanksgiving and christmas day.”

Clint made a mental note: _Look up ‘Green Bean Casserole’_

**Lead up to Christmas: 22nd-24th December**

Clint braved the stores to buy gifts for all his friends. He was a little later than usual but he was prepared for the crowds. Mostly. He bought gifts for all his friends at work. Sitwell, Woo, Natasha, May and Hill all got nice, thoughtful gifts and a few of his other co-workers got small, generic gifts.

Last on his list were several things he knew Phil wanted or needed.

  1. Blue and white winter-themed sweater (it had snowflakes on it)--because apparently it was a tradition his father started. Clint wasn’t sure he understood why. But the sweater was soft and the colour would bring out Phil’s eyes so he didn’t mind the purchase.

  2. A pair of special gloves that could be used with touch-screen devices--because Phil constantly bitched about having to answer his phone with his nose during winter (which Clint thought was adorable)

  3. A box of fancy Chocolates-- Because who doesn’t like chocolate? (who isn’t allergic or lactose intolerant)

  4. A book-- Sci-Fi because Phil had always been a bit of a nerd and liked to read the interesting stories and laugh at the ‘advanced’ technology that Wakanda had already created secretly. He spent a long time deciding what book to buy, but he was satisfied that the story wasn’t misogynistic or whitewashed and was suitably imaginative.




He also refined his christmas day menu.

_Christmas Day Meal_

  * _Entree: Mini chicken and leek pasties_

  * _Main: Crispy Roast Pork Belly (because Phil thinks Turkey is a thanksgiving food), with brussel sprouts (because they both love brussel sprouts), green bean casserole and caramelised baby carrots._

  * _Dessert: Sour Cherry Pie_




****  
  


**Christmas Day**

Clint was a bundle of nerves throughout Christmas morning. Natasha had volunteered to work over christmas as usual but she had popped quickly by Clint’s apartment to hit him over the head, tell him that the dinner would go well and accept her gift and a hug. Natasha was by far the best friend he’d ever had, but most of their relationship consisted of sniping at each other, hitting (usually Nat hitting him) and meaningful conversations only when drunk or through non-verbal interaction. Before she left she reminded him that she was betting on a yes from Coulson and would break Clint’s kneecaps if he chickened out. For some reason he found that calming.

As she walked away he could hear her on the phone.

“I’m on my way, Maria. Will you still be free for a late dinner? I might have some money to collect from you.”

Clint couldn’t hear Hill’s reply, but it made Natasha laugh. Maria and Natasha had gotten together the previous summer after a courtship period almost as ridiculously long as Clint and Phil’s. He wasn’t proud of the fact that Natasha had managed to get her act together before he had.

Hours, a lot of sweat and a few tears later Clint was ready for dinner. Apart from his clothes. He had made the poor choice of cooking in the clothes he wanted to wear that night (“I was wearing an apron, Tasha! How was I supposed to know? What do I wear now?”). His first became a victim of a gravy related accident, but he thought the soft grey henley suited him better than the stiff black button up had. The henley hadn’t entirely escaped kitchen spills, and had a small cherry red mark on the sleeve. Clint hoped he could wash it out, but he didn’t have time to change again. By the time he had emerged from his bedroom he had less than half an hour until Phil was due to arrive. He fiddled around in the kitchen a little longer, set the table and put on some soft jazz music.

The doorbell rang, and Clint tried to tamp down his anxiety and slow down his overactive heartbeat. It didn’t work particularly well, but he opened the door anyway.

Phil stood at his door smiling in a way Clint hadn’t seen before. It was a soft and warm and welcoming expression and Clint felt suddenly at ease. Phil was wearing a dark red sweater and dark-wash jeans, he was wearing his black framed glasses and carrying a basket with one hand and a bottle of wine with the other.

“What is that?” Clint asked, gesturing to the covered basket Phil was carrying.

Phil inexplicably blushed and opened the basket. “Apples. For hot cider, maybe. If you want. I also have cinnamon and other spices… if you want.”

Clint gaped, and for a moment he was so touched he thought he might actually cry. He didn’t, but it was close. “We can have it after dessert while we watch movies. I--I made sour cherry pie. I hope that’s okay, it might not be as good as your mum’s but I made sure to use the same recipe.”

Phil very carefully placed the basket and wine onto the table before he turned and hugged Clint fiercely.

“Thank you,” Phil said quietly. They stayed like that for a while, Clint wasn’t sure where to put his hands. In the end he decided ‘fuck it’ and put one hand on the small of Phil’s back and the other entangled in his hair.

“Dinner smells amazing,” Phil said, eventually. He hadn’t moved or tried to extract himself from the (definitely non-platonic) hug.

“Presents, or dinner first?”

“You ask the hard questions, Barton.” Phil laughed, “I think, dinner then presents then dessert then cider.”

Clint smiled against Phil’s hair. “Sounds perfect.”

The conversation over dinner was natural and flowing, they rarely ran out of things to talk about and when they did they could seamlessly transition into a new subject through simple observation. Clint did feel nervous, but it was absolutely the ‘right’ time. It had to be, after so much planning and 10 freaking years of waiting ( _“No, Nat. Waiting is not the same as pining”_ ). The only awkwardness Clint felt was when Phil moaned out-loud during his first mouthful of pork belly, and that was a different kind of awkwardness.

After dinner they moved to the living room. Clint put the TV on for background noise and sat down under the tree. For the first time he noticed more presents under the tree than he’d put there. His presents were wrapped in silver and white paper and blue ribbon, the new ones were wrapped in purple paper with black ribbon. The colour of the paper was such a small thing, but it made a difference to Clint for some reason. That Phil had bothered to find purple holiday themed paper made the presents that much more special.

“How did you get them under the tree without me noticing? Your hands were full when you came in.”

“I can delegate when required, “ Phil smirked.

“Natasha, that evil spy.”

Phil laughed. “I wanted you to have some surprises, and a proper christmas tree experience.” he stopped laughing and made eye contact with Clint, “You deserve to have a proper christmas for once. I wanted to help you make that happen because I know it means a lot to you.”

Clint put his hand over Phil’s and maintained eye contact. “Thank you,” he said seriously, before breaking into a large smile, “Now. Presents.”

Clint didn’t want to miss seeing his reactions to the gifts, but he was also impatient to see what his own were, so they decided to open one at a time starting with the smallest (as in least important/expensive) gifts. Clint went first.

His first gift was a keychain with an arrow on it.

“You always lose your keys or are complaining about forgetting to pick up all of the keys you need in a day. I don’t know why you didn’t have a keychain but now you do.”

It was a thoughtful gift, and Clint was happy that Phil was listening to him as much as he was listening to Phil. They were both doing very well with Lady E’s Love Rule #2.

Phil opened the chocolates, ate one, and moaned. Clint almost made the same noise for an entirely different reason.

Clint’s second gift was Clotted Cream Fudge. They had both become addicted to the sweet during a long term mission in the UK several years earlier and had been trying to find some ever since. Clint ate three pieces and offered them to Phil, who took two.

Clint’s next three gifts were: A sweater, in a dark purple with a black and grey winter pattern; a matching scarf because he always complains about having a cold neck and a fantasy book about a kick-ass female archer.

Phil reacted well to the sweater, the gloves and the book.

Clint’s last present is large and rectangular. He had no idea what it was, apart from that it was probably in some kind of box. When he opened it he was surprised. It was a coffee maker, an expensive looking one at that. HIs own had broken several months before and was so crappy that the filter wasn’t catching most of the grounds, making every cup vaguely gritty.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“There--there’s something else inside.” Phil said, looking down at his hands.

Inside the coffee pot was an envelope. Clint opened it curiously. It was a receipt for classes as Aerial Arts NYC, for two people.

“One of the part time SHIELD combat instructors is also an instructor there,” Phil explained, “he put a good word in with his boss so we could get into the advanced classes. I’ve done a few, to catch up to your skill level. I thought you’d enjoy using the skills for something other than life or death. You always talk about how much you enjoyed that aspect of the circus. But no pressure, if you don’t want to go!”

“I’d love to go,” Clint said, staring at the paper in his hands, “it’s-- it’s perfect.”

When Phil opened his present he made a noise that was very close to a squeal.

“This is so cool! It’s like actual James Bond spy cool! But also surprisingly useful, there are so many situations I could use this in!” he paused, “Is this about what happened earlier this month?”

“Maybe a little. I know you can handle yourself in hand-to-hand but sometimes you really need a screwdriver or a pair of pliers.”

“Or a nail-file?”

“Surprisingly useful in heists and shit.” Clint shrugged.

“This is amazing, Clint. This whole night has been amazing. It’s been--It’s been perfect.”

“Would you maybe” *DING DING DING DING* “Shit, is that your emergency phone?”

“No,” Phil said between the obnoxious dinging which was code for Fury wanting something urgently. Usually Phil was near enough to his work phone to answer without the annoying emergency call, but he’d specially asked not to be disturbed. “I need to say something important. You were saying something important.”

“Well the moment’s sort of ruined now!” Clint muttered.

“If you don’t want to say anything, can I just talk?”

“You’re already talking,” Clint teased.

Phil shut off his phone.

“Clint, today has been perfect. You’re the best man I know, and we’ve been friends for a long time-” *smash*

“What the fuck?”

There was a brick on his livingroom floor and then, all of a sudden, the room was full of armed men.

“And our friendship is really important to me,” Phil continued as he cut a man’s throat with the pen-knife Clint had given him.

“Are you seriously doing this now?” Clint asked incredulously, as he ducked under his table to avoid being shot.

“I got myself ready to say it, so I’m going to say it,” Phil shouted.

Clint couldn’t help but laugh as he stabbed one of the intruders with the fork he had used during dinner, it was just like their lives for them to be finally having this conversation at that exact moment.

“I love you, Phil.” Clint shouted back, “You’re ridiculous and adorable and I love you and we’re the most ridiculous people in the world. I’ll be mad about it later, when I’m not fighting for my life, because I wanted the moment to be right!”

“It doesn’t have to be super special, Clint,” Phil laughed, “this would still have been the best moment of my life even if you’d said it while sweaty and gross after a workout. It’s not about the right moment, it’s about the right person.”

Phil is cut off by a few gunshots, but Clint isn’t worried. He finishes off his last opponent with an easy choke hold and sits back to watch Phil finish his. In the end Phil hits his opponent on the head with the empty wine bottle and laughs somewhat manically as he surveys the mess that was once the living room. The tree is off balance and half the ornaments had fallen off during the fight, there are 5 dead or injured men and three dead or injured women bleeding with various degrees of severity on Clint’s carpet (he’s not getting his security deposit back) but the recently opened presents (save for the pen that Phil was still clutching in his hand) were stacked neatly near the wall.

“I knew that pen would come in handy,” Clint said flippantly.

Phil snorted and laughed again, less manically this time. “Oh god, I love you so much you goofball.”

“I love you too.”

“Were you really waiting for the right time?”

“Waiting for ten years. I decided to make my own perfect moment, but I don’t know that it worked out too well.”

“Once we’re done debriefing would you like to go out with me? On a date?”

“Yeah,” Clint said, smiling widely, “I would.”

“I realise this is a bit sudden,” Phil said, looking around the room, “But maybe you could take some clothes and we could go to my place?”

“I don’t want kids,” Clint blurted.

Phil looked at him with an odd sort of fondly exasperated look on his face, “That’s thinking a little further ahead than I was. But I don’t want kids either.”

“Dogs. I want dogs. Many dogs.”

“I’ve always loved dogs,” Phil said pleasantly as he shepherded Clint out of the ruined living room, “I’ve texted Fury. They won’t be long.”

“Can I kiss you?” Clint asked.

Phil smiled again and leaned forward. “Of course.”

 

And for a while they forgot they were covered in blood and not quite safe yet. This couldn’t be further from what Clint thought the ‘right time’ would look like, but it was perfect anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you everyone for reading :)


End file.
